Love at First Science Part Deux - Christmas in Paris
by circlesquare
Summary: AU set in Paris. Sequel to "Love at First Science" so read that first. Cosima/Delphine, Cophine, Science Girlfriends, femslash
1. Chapter 1

I woke up in a sweat. I had been dreaming about Cosima again. It was the kind of dream that left a hunger inside me, one that didn't originate in my stomach but somewhere deep inside my chest. It was the kind of hunger that I felt from my abdomen to the roof of my mouth, the kind of hunger that ached and could not be stretched out or shaken away easily.

I sat up in my bed and reached for my phone, turning it on, finding Cosima's name, typing out my frustration as fast as my sleepy fingers could go, and then reading her last text and remembering that she was on a plane, on her way to one of those states in the middle of the country that I couldn't remember the name of, on her way to spend the holidays with her family.

At the moment, my girlfriend was completely unreachable, and my hunger, completely insatiable.

"Merde!" I said to the darkness.

I went to the bathroom to get a drink and to splash some water on my face. I turned the light on, and was surprised at my own reflection. My skin was dry and there were dark circles under my eyes, the results of too many restless nights. I took a long drink, gulping the water down until I was breathless.

"This is killing me," I said to myself.

Myself looked back at me in sympathy, but there was nothing we could do. Well, there was one thing we could do.

I sighed and looked at my reflection's hands, leaning on the cool countertop. I looked at my own shoulders and chest, at the curve of my own breasts, which showed through my t-shirt. No, Cosima's t-shirt. I turned my chin to the left and to the right, imagining Cosima's hands wrapping around me from behind. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, almost feeling her up against my back, almost hearing her breath, catching a whiff of that baby powder smell that still rose up from her t-shirt. I pushed my hips against the counter and leaned some more, until I was nearly bent over.

I leaned right into my glass, sending it rolling across the counter, splashing water all over the front of myself. I jumped back, catching the glass and the surprised look in my reflection's face. We both laughed.

"I guess it's just you and me tonight," I said. "Again."

My reflection sighed. "Merde!"

This kind of night had become my usual. Even though it had been more than five months since I left San Francisco, even though I was up to my eyeballs in work, racing to meet deadlines on my thesis, even though I kept myself busy, working myself into the ground, hoping that exhaustion would be enough to put me into a dreamless sleep, even despite all of that, I still dreamed of Cosima, almost every night.

In the first few weeks, I was grateful. I would wake up and let myself linger in the lovely aching of my body and heart, and dream of the day when I could return to her little Christmas apartment in San Francisco and share that bottle of Alpha Omega that I had left behind. After all, she had promised not to open it without me.

And it was all set. I already had my ticket for December 20th. I was on track to jet across the Atlantic to America - America being San Francisco, because as far as I was concerned, that city contained the entirety of things that mattered to me in the entire country. We were supposed to spend Christmas together.

But then, life has a way of pulling you along at unexpected angles.

I got an offer, an opportunity that I couldn't resist.

My professor, white-bearded and rosy-cheeked, made the offer while I was sitting in his office. We had just finished up reviewing the last notes of my thesis project, and he set the papers neatly in my manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward me purposefully.

"Now then," he started as he crossed his hands in front of himself. "About this winter holiday. Do you have plans?"

"Yes!" I said, slipping the file into my briefcase. "I'm going to California!"

"California? Really?" he said. He smiled like he was happy for me, but the tone in his voice could only be described as disappointed. "Wow. That's really something. Do you have family there?"

"Well, no," I said, unsure how I should label Cosima. "Not really. I'm visiting a friend. A very good friend."

"That's unfortunate," he said, tapping his index fingers on his desk.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I'm going to Kenya this holiday," he said. "I'm going with the people from End 7. You're familiar with the organization?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "End 7 is a non-profit organization that aims to irradicate seven diseases from the planet by 2020, "

"Yes, that's the one," he said. "Anyway, I was invited to tag along to see the work they are doing down in Kenya, and they said I could bring an associate with me."

"Uh-huh," I said, already knowing where this conversation was going, and already knowing the decision that was waiting just up ahead.

"And," he continued, "With all the work you have been doing on host-parasite relationships, I thought you'd be an excellent candidate. So what do you say?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "The perfect candidate? Me?"

"Unless you can think of someone better," he said, standing up and circling around to the front of the desk.

"No, no," I said. "I can't think of anyone better. It is a wonderful opportunity. Perfect, actually. It's just, I've already made arrangements."

"Look," he said, reaching his hand out toward me. "You're my first choice, but there is no pressure. I'll send over the trip itinerary and you can look it over, see if it fits in with your plans."

"Yes, that's a good idea," I said, standing up and shaking his hand.

How am I going to tell Cosima? I thought.

"Mademoiselle Cormier," he said, leading me to the door. "You've done good work this term. You should feel proud of yourself. This trip would just be the icing on the cake of an already great year."

She is going to be so disappointed.

"Yes," I said, following him but not really listening to what he was saying. "Thank you."

"Good. Get a good night's rest," he said, leading me to the door. "And let me know your decision a little later in the week."

Maybe there's still a chance, I thought. Maybe I can do both.

"Yes, I will," I said, but my mind was racing with the possibilities, both good and bad.

Then he closed the door behind me, leaving me standing in the hallway, a baffled expression on my face, like a computer that does not compute, until another woman passed by and asked if I was okay. I smiled and said I was, but there was a knot forming in my stomach, an ache forming in my chest, because I already knew what my decision would be.

Ever since I broke the bad news to Cosima, though; ever since I told her I wouldn't able to share that bottle of cabernet sauvignon this Christmas; ever since she looked down at her hands and got real quiet and still, so still that I thought my webcam had frozen; ever since she looked up at me and smiled, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes and then shaking her head, as if rejecting her own disappointment, as if saying no to her own sadness; ever since she promised me it was okay, we could meet in the Spring and the weather would be better anyway; ever since then, I haven't had a single, good night's sleep.

Most nights, like that one, I would wake up with the image of Cosima's lips burned onto the insides of my eyelids, so that I could still see her above me in the dark. Then I'd second guess myself. Then I'd text her ask if I was making the right decision.

"This is a great opportunity," she'd write. "This is what you have been working toward for forever! I can't let you miss it. You're totally doing the right thing!"

"Then why don't I dream of Kenya?" I'd write. "Why do I only dream of you?"

Then she'd send me an emoticon or a picture of herself and say something cheesy like, "Because I'm dreamy."

It went like that for three weeks, me freaking out, and her reassuring me, and then me wondering why she was the one doing all the reassuring. When did I turn the tables on her?

But at that moment, she was on an airplane, on her way to her aunt's house where she said she would be M.I.A. for a few days. And at that moment, I was laying on my bed, my shirt wet and my body aching, looking forward to tomorrow, because she promised that no matter what family dramas or crises that may be going on around her, she would find a webcam, she would log on to skype and we would open the gifts we had mailed to each other. It would be our own international Christmas, a few days early, but still, our very own.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I opened my eyes with a start. I had woken up without an alarm. I didn't need one. I was too excited.

I had the whole day planned out, right up until 8 PM, which is when I would return to my apartment and park myself in front of my computer and wait for Cosima's call. She picked the time, saying that she would be six hours behind Paris time, saying that she could probably sneak away from her family in the afternoon, when everyone was laid out on recliners, waiting for dinnertime to come around so they would have a reason to gather again and converse.

As for me, first I would make myself a simple breakfast of coffee and a croissant. Then I'd finish up my packing, as I was set to depart for Kenya the next day, December 23rd. Then, after double-checking everything, I'd run out to meet my friend, Celeste, for lunch. In the afternoon, I had an appointment at the hair salon, because even though I wasn't meeting Cosima in person, I still wanted to look my best when I talked to her. After all, I wasn't sure when we'd get the chance to see eachother again. Finally, I'd meet my parents for an early dinner in order to celebrate Christmas and to say goodbye before my trip.

I had made myself intentionally busy, because I knew the last day before my trip would be the hardest to bear.

For the most part, the first half of my day went pretty well. The coffee and croissant were easy. The packing went smoothly, too, considering I had already packed and repacked twice. In fact, I had everything packed in suitcases and set by the front door by eleven o'clock, just in time to step out for my lunch appointment.

I took the metro to Les Halles, where I met Celeste at the cafe of her choosing. As I approached the cafe from across the street, I felt a tinge of confusion as I saw the Australian flag and read the name on the sign, Le Café Oz. I shrugged my shoulders and hurried across the street.

When I got inside, Celeste was already seated at a table.

"What's with the Australian theme?" I said, taking my coat off as I sat down.

"It's in honour of you, you know?" she said.

"In honor of me?" I said. "I don't understand."

"In honor of your new relationship!" she said, grinning like school girl with a secret.

I had finally told her about Cosima only recently, when I was still debating whether to go to California or Kenya. Ever since then, it was the only thing she wanted to talk about.

"Cosima is American, not Australian," I said.

"Oh," Celeste said, looking around the cafe. "Well, it's close enough anyway."

"In what way?" I said.

"Well, you know, where was I going to take you for lunch? McDonald's?" she said.

I decided to let it drop as the waitress approached to take our orders, but after she was gone, Celeste brought up Cosima's name, her hand half covering her mouth, as if the other patrons might recognize the name, as if they might automatically know that Celeste was going to ask something racy.

"So," she whispered. "What's it like?"

I took a sip of my water before replying, "What's what like?"

"You know," she said, "being with a woman?"

"I don't know," I said, suddenly lowering my voice, suddenly wondering if the other patrons were, in fact, listening in on our conversation. "You watch television. I'm sure you can guess."

"Well," she said, "television isn't real life. Straight people on television aren't like straight people in real life. Television cops aren't like real cops. So why should lesbians be any different?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging my shoulders and lying. "It's the same as being with a man."

"That's bullshit, Delphine Cormier!" she said in a whisper-shout.

"Oh, come on, Celeste," I said. "Be polite."

She leaned back a little, relenting in the slightest, but I could tell she wasn't quite done giving me the third degree.

"Hmm," she said. "You told me right away that that Josh guy was a bad kisser."

"Yes!" I said. "He was terrible! Don't remind me."

"So, Cosima's a good kisser?" she said.

I didn't answer because the waitress brought our food, set it in front of us and asked us if we needed anything else. I said no thanks, brushing my hair from my face, and biting my lip in embarrassment. As soon as she was gone, I looked up to find Celeste watching my every move, eyes wide and mouth smirking.

"So?" she said to me. "Is she?"

I rolled my eyes at her and looked down at my salad, because I really didn't know what to say.

"She is!" Celeste shouted. "I knew it! I knew she was good because you didn't say anything about her, and you always say something, you always have something to complain about."

"That's not true," I said.

"Yes, it is, but that's beside the point," she said, taking a bite of her baguette.

She thought for a moment and I looked down at my food.

"So," she started again.

This time she leaned over the table toward me.

"How is the, you know, sex?" she said, not bothering to whisper anymore.

"Shhhh!" I said.

"Oh, don't be a prude," she said. "Is it good?"

Is it good? I thought to myself. Is it good?

Her question struck a chord somewhere inside me, sending me vibrating back in time, back to the San Francisco hotel room with the balcony that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge. A series of images flashed in my mind; Cosima swearing in French; Cosima giggling before me as she pulled me to the bed; Cosima laying on her back, knees up, arm raised over her head, her pretty mouth smiling from beneath her elbow. Then, even faster, I remembered the first time she touched my bare chest; the first time I tasted her salty fingertips; the first time she had me on the verge of orgasm and I didn't know whether to come or cry.

All of this, I remembered in a moment, and still I didn't know how to answer the question.

All of this, was going on inside my mind, but on the outside, I kept my head down, playing with my salad, pushing the cherry tomatoes around and avoiding Celeste's eyes. I felt a lump forming in my throat, so that even if I wanted to answer her, it wouldn't be easy.

"Delphine?" she said.

She must have sensed something was wrong, because she slid her hand across the table and placed it on top of mine.

"I'm sorry, Delphine," she said. "You know I can be a jerk sometimes. I was only teasing."

I looked up at her and smiled a sad smile. I didn't know why I was suddenly so sad, but I guessed it had something to do with loneliness and love.

"It's really good," I said quietly, wiping the beginnings of tears from my eyes. Then I laughed at myself, laughed at the idea of myself crying in a restaurant, in front of Celeste, over another woman. Who would have thought?

She laughed with me. We laughed together, drawing the attention of the tables closest to us. When our laughter had subsided and the threat of impending tears had passed. We were quiet for a moment.

"The sex is really good," I said, finally.

"Well, that's a good thing, right?" she said, squeezing my hand once and then letting go.

"Yeah," I said. "That's a good thing. It's the best thing, actually. And possibly the worst thing."

"Wow," Celeste said, "that's deep."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "You're completely over the moon in love with this woman, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yes."

"I envy you," she said.

I laughed and nodded my head, but I wasn't really sure how my situation was enviable.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for meeting me. I didn't think I could bear this day alone."

"Hey," she said. "What are friends for? Besides, this whole Kenya thing will be over before you know it. Besides, I bet spring will be beautiful in San Francisco, right?"

"Yes, I guess so," I said, sitting up straighter. "You're right. Let's look at the bright side."

"Yes," she said. "That's the spirit! And there is a huge bright side to all of this, you know."

"What's that?"

"You're in love," she said with a sympathetic smile.

Maybe she knew - maybe we both knew - that being in love does not equate being out of pain.


	3. Chapter 3

I left Celeste on the corner, with a hug and a promise to send a postcard from Kenya. She hugged me and patted my shoulder, saying that everything would be alright, and maybe it was just the sun glaring off of a car window or the snow, but I think she winked at me. I shrugged and said that I hoped it would, then I left her, heading straight to the salon for my hair appointment, still feeling a little down.

When I arrived at the salon, Anton, my stylist, greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks.

"Ma cherie, where have you been?" he said.

"I know, I know. It's been too long," I said. "I've been buried in work. And I'm in need of some beautification."

"Oh, please," he said. "You're one of those natural beauties that make me sick!"

"Stop it," I said, sitting in his chair and catching my reflection in the mirror. I still looked tired, but my cheeks were rosey from the cold.

"So," he said. "Should we try something new?"

"No, no," I said. "Just a trim. I don't want any surprises tonight."

"Tonight?" he said, with his hands in my hair, and his eyes on my face. "What's tonight? A big date?"

I squirmed in my chair, but my blushing face gave me away.

"Oh! How exciting!" he said, reaching for his scissors. "It's good to know that my work won't be wasted. Is it the American, what was his name?"

"No," I said. "Well, yes, an American, but not the one you know about, not Josh."

"Where are you meeting all of these Americans?" he said.

"In America, actually," I said. "This one I met in San Francisco."

"Wait a minute!" he said. "When were you in San Francisco?"

"Well, I went there to visit Josh's family, and then..." I said, looking down at my lap as my words trailed off.

"You little bitch!" he said, hitting my arm playfully with the comb. "You dumped him in his hometown?"

"Sort of," I said, laughing at myself in the mirror. "Well, yes, completely."

"This new guy must be superb!" he said.

"Yes," I said, looking back down at my lap, twiddling my fingers together beneath my polyester robe.

_Is this the part where I'm supposed to come out?_ I thought.

"Ma cherie," he said, with his hand on his waist. "If he's so superb, why do you look so down?"

_What's the big deal? Anton is gay. He won't even care._

I took a deep breath, but I couldn't look up.

"Well, it wasn't a man," I said into my chest. "I left him for a woman."

He inhaled loudly, leaning back, hand on his chest, eyes wide in a pantomime of shock.

"Oh! How scandalous!" he said.

But then his posture melted back to normal, and he leaned forward and smiled at me in the mirror.

"Welcome to the club," he whispered into my ear.

"Thanks," I said, sitting up a little straighter.

"But you're right," he said. "You have to look flawless because women are on a whole other level. They notice everything!"

"You don't have to worry too much," I said. "As long as I look good on camera."

"On camera?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "The American is still in America, which is only about five thousand miles away."

"Oh no! Long Distance?" he said.

I shook my head in agreement. "Yes," I said. "We have a skype date tonight."

"So, what you are trying to say is, I should focus on your face and forget about the back? Well, that makes things easier!"

"Right," I said, laughing.

"Well, don't you worry. I'll take good care of you," he said as his brows furrowed in concentration.

He worked his magic, just as he promised to do, and at the end, he even made his assistant take a photo of us together on this phone.

"So I can brag about you," he said to me with a smile.

"Thank you so much," I said, leaving him with two more kisses on the cheek.

"It's my pleasure, cherie," he said. "And let me know how it goes."

"Of course," I said, leaving the salon feeling lighter, happier, and as feisty as a fox.


	4. Chapter 4

Still feeling feisty, and still having time to kill before I had to meet my parents for dinner, I strolled through Les Halles, looking in the windows of cafes and shops, catching my own reflection every now and then. Anton was right. He had taken good care of me. My hair looked extra shiny in the shop windows and the smell of salon chemicals swirled around my head, boosting my self-esteem, adding that extra bounce to my step as I strutted down the street.

The weather was nice, not too cold, and the sky was a wonderful, deep shade of blue, broken up by a few buoyant clouds moving briskly on the wind.

It was such a pleasant day and I was in such a pleasant mood that I continued walking, right past the long walls of the Louvre, over the gray waters of the Seine and into the busy courtyard in front of Notre Dame.

Usually, I avoided such touristy places, but that day I was drawn to the large crowds of people, the young families, the happy couples, the bickering couples, the old couples that moved so slow they had to stop to take a rest every few paces. I guess I just wanted to be surrounded by them, by these strangers. I guess I didn't want to be alone.

I walked up to the front of the cathedral and gazed up at the facade of saints and I wondered if the the hierarchy in heaven was really so complex. The cold, stone walls and high ceilings had never really been a comfort to me as a child, though my parents often took me to church and assured me of God's love. I remember not quite believing them. My impression of God, then and even to this day, was that of someone very big, mysterious and easily changeable, perhaps not really meant to be trusted because his affections had always seemed finicky and his reactions extreme.

I felt a cool chill and took a step away from the main entrance, glancing once into the dark interior, but not entering.

One unexpected comfort of that bustling courtyard with all its tourists was all the English language. It came at me from all sides, children playing, adults deciphering maps, tour guides offering up tidbits of information, all of them speaking in English, as if we weren't standing in the middle of Paris after all. I let the sound swirl around me as I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck. I thought, for a moment, that when all the accents and voices ran together, when I opened my ears and listened to them all at once, they would combine together in such a way, their resonant frequencies blending and reinforcing each other, until finally, I thought I heard her voice.

_Delphine._

I turned my head, but no one was there. I was playing tricks on myself. I shook off another chill and decided to move along. I headed toward Rue Saint-Jacques, with my head down, because the hairs on the back of my neck were still standing up.

"Excuse me," someone said in English.

I turned to see an older woman, her hair trimmed short and dyed black. She was motioning for another woman to hurry up and join her. The other woman had black-skin and salt and pepper hair which she had tied up underneath a little hat. She smiled at me, taking small steps toward us.

"Yes?" I said.

"Are you from around here?" the woman said, taking the shorter woman's arm in her own, helping her along.

"Yes," I said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please," said the woman. "We're trying to get to the Eiffel Tower."

"The Eiffel Tower?" I said.

"Yep, I heard that's what you're supposed to do when you come to Paris," she said with a smile, her cheeks rosey and her eyes the color of the Seine.

"Yes, of course," I said with a laugh.

"Well, it wouldn't happen to be close, would it?" she said.

"No," I said, sorry to impart the bad news. "It's quite far from here, actually. You wouldn't be able to walk."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," the taller woman said.

"Even if it was just around the corner, we wouldn't be able to walk," said the shorter woman. She patted her friend's arm as she laughed at her own joke.

"Well, you can catch a taxi," I said.

"A taxi, huh?" the taller woman said.

"Or, I can show you to the metro stop," I said.

The two women regarded each other for a moment, not saying anything, but just looking at each other for a long while, as if communicating through some secret language, one that involved the patting of their hands together, and the twitching of their lips. Finally, the taller woman looked at me.

"I don't think the metro would be so good for her hip," she said.

"Right, of course," I said.

"If we were to take a taxi, which direction would we go?" she said.

"Let me catch one for you," I said.

"Oh no, dear, you don't have to do that, just point us in the right direction," she said.

"Oh, please, it's my pleasure," I said.

We walked together, slowly, because that was their only speed. The dark-haired woman walked next to me, chatting about their travel plans, where they had been, where they were going, and the white-haired woman would trail off behind us, until we stopped and waited, calling, "I'll be right there! Don't worry about me!"

"It's our thirtieth anniversary," the taller woman said while we waited.

_Anniversary!?_ I thought.

I could not contain my happiness at this disclosure, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere inside me.

"Congratulations!" I said. "Congratulations! Thirty years, wow!"

"Yep," she continued, her head up proudly. "We've been saving money for this trip for nearly just as long. It's always been Lucy's dream to come to Paris. Hasn't it, Lucy?"

"What's that, Doris?" Lucy hollered as she approached.

"It's been your dream to come to Paris, hasn't it?" she repeated. "To go up that Eiffel Tower."

"Oh yeah!" she said, smiling and reaching for the taller woman's arm. "I'm gonna climb every step, even if it takes all night!"

"There's an elevator," I said.

"I came all the way here," Lucy said. "I'm gonna take every step myself."

"She's a little on the stubborn side," Doris said. "Can you tell?"

I laughed and said I did.

Being such a busy spot, there were already other passengers lined up and waiting for taxis. We weren't going anywhere fast.

"So, I'm guessing you're American," I said, making small talk to pass the time.

"How'd you guess that?" Doris said, nudging me with her elbow.

I laughed. "Where in the states are you from?" I said.

"We're from right in the middle," she said, "from a place called Iowa that you've probably never heard of."

Ah-ha! I thought. Iowa! That's the name of the state! Cosima is in Iowa!

"Iowa?" I said.

"Yeah," she said. "Have you heard of it?"

"Yes," I said. "Actually, I have. My...eh...my girlfriend... is there right now."

Both of the women raised their thin eyebrows at the same time, then they looked at each other and smiled.

"She's a lucky girl," Lucy said, smiling so big that her irises disappeared behind the wrinkles of her eyes.

"No, no," I said. "I'm the lucky one."

When it was our turn, I put them in the back of the taxi, then leaned into the front window to give the driver instructions. Then, without thinking much about it, I handed over fifteen euros, saying it was my treat. The driver nodded his understanding.

The women leaned forward in their seats and tried to stop me, but it was already done.

"Oh, you sweet girl, you didn't have to do that!" Doris said.

"It's my pleasure," I said, waving as I stepped away. "Happy anniversary! Be careful on those stairs!"

Both women waved and smiled as the cab pulled away. When the next car pulled up in the line, a man wearing a fanny pack over his parka asked if I was taking it. I realized the sky was turning pink, the sun was setting, and I would soon be late for my appointment with my parents. I said I would take the taxi, and as I sat down and looked out the window, I hoped that Lucy and Doris would be able to reach the top of the Eiffel Tower that night, and that it would be one of the best memories of their thirty years together.


	5. Chapter 5

When I arrived at the restaurant, I spotted my parents right away. They were dressed nicely, my mother in a black dress and pearls, her mink coat hanging on the wall behind her, and my father in a finely fitted suit and a purple neck tie, his hair combed back neatly. I felt a little under-dressed myself, but at least I was still bouncy fresh from the salon.

I felt a little tired, though, and hoped my parents weren't in a chatty mood. In general, they liked to eat an early dinner, have a glass of wine and be in bed before ten. That worked out perfectly for my plans. I intended to stay for dinner, chat a bit about unimportant things, say my goodbyes, and then run home to see Cosima.

That was the plan anyway, and it went pretty well for the first fifteen minutes. I greeted my parents with kisses. I sat down at the table. We ordered food as I discussed my itinerary for the Kenya trip. They offered their congratulations, which were then followed by my father's statements of undying confusion as to why I went into epidemiology instead of medicine. I explained that epidemiology is an important branch of research that directly affects medicine, and the treatment of patients all over the world. He said that, as a medical doctor, I could help people right there in France and make more money while doing it. I said that I'm not doing it for money and money isn't everything. He said under his breath something about me always having money, so I didn't think I had to work for it. I tried my best to not roll my eyes like a teenager, because this conversation was very old, and my patience for it was very thin.

_Talk about the weather,_ I thought. _Just talk about the weather._

"So, it's rather warm these days, isn't it?" I said. "So much for a white Christmas."

"Yes," my father said, leaning back in his chair, with his hands crossed over his substantial belly. "It really makes you wonder about all that global warming talk, doesn't it?"

"That's what they say," my mother said. "That's what they say."

She fiddled with the pearls around her wrist and then looked at me as if she had just thought of the perfect thing to say.

"It must be very hot in Kenya," she said. "I bet it won't be snowing there."

"No," I said. "It definitely won't."

"Your suitcase must be very light then. Are you all packed and ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Very light. Only a few pairs of shorts and some t-shirts."

"I see," my mother said, and then she looked to my father, but he was gazing off toward the front door.

Instinctively, both my mother and I followed his line of sight, but I didn't see anything. My mother then turned back to me.

"Now, don't you go falling in love with some Kenyan doctor and forget all about us," she said.

"Mother," I said. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Well, why not?" she said. "You always seem to be attracted to foreigners."

"That's not true," I said.

"Well, what about that American?" she said.

"That was only one person," I said, "and his name was Josh."

"Oh, yeah, the artist," my father said, returning his attention to our table. "Whatever happened to that guy?"

"She left him in San Francisco, remember?" my mother said.

"Things didn't work out," I said.

"Good," my father said. "I never liked that guy, anyway."

"I know," I said.

"He was a flake," my dad said.

"I thought he was handsome," my mom said.

"I know, I know," I said in a tone that meant I was done with the topic.

We all three sat silently, awkwardly, the air heavy between us. My father kept glancing at the front door. My mother looked down at her hands. I took a drink of wine, because the situation was very quickly becoming unpleasant.

"I wonder when our food will come," my mother said. "We ordered it twenty minutes ago."

"This place is always slow, remember?" my father said. "You always complain about it."

"I'm sure it will be here soon," I said.

"Ah-ha!" my father said, standing up from his chair. "Here he is!"

"Here who is?" I said, turning toward the door.

My mother then stood up, too, her eyebrows raised expectantly, her mouth turned up into a smile.

"Your brother!" she said.

"What?" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

But even as I said it, I watched my brother walk in the door, his long hair covered in a navy blue knit hat, his beard was full and wild. He wore a grey pea coat with elbow patches, and workman's pants and boots. He had the overall, hardy look of a seaman, because, that was what he was, though I had never seen it before in person.

He approached the table, his smile visible, even beneath his brown beard. He hugged my father in that over aggressive masculine way, as if to say, we are both men, this is how men hug, complete with a pat on the back and a squeeze of the forearm. Then he kissed my mother gingerly, and she giggled when his whiskers tickled her cheeks.

I watched the whole scene from my chair, too shocked to stand. He sat down in the chair across from me, almost a stranger behind that beard, which made him look both older and younger at the same time. Older, because it gave him more mass, added a typical sort of masculinity to his general appearance, but younger, because it emphasized his cheeks, making them appear rounder, and it emphasized his eyes, making them the focus of his entire face. You could not escape his eyes, which were blue, luminescent and full of mischief.

"Merry Christmas, Delphine," he said as he sat down.

"Merry Christmas, Laurent," I said.

"It's been a long time," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Too long."


	6. Chapter 6

Our food arrived just as Laurent sat down, and the waitress brought him another menu. He held in front of himself without looking at it. Instead, he looked back and forth between my parents as they peppered him with questions about his travels.

"You look good," my mother said. "You look really good! Doesn't he look good, Delphine?"

"Yes," I said. "I like your beard."

"Oh, really?" he said touching his beard the way a pirate might. "Thanks."

"So, how's the fishing industry these days?" my father said. "How much did you pull this season?"

"The crabbing industry is good," Laurent said, "I was crabbing, remember? But it's too cold now, so no one is making money this season."

My father grunted his understanding and took a large bite of steak.

"How's life over there in Alaska?" my mother said. "Are you making any new friends?"

Laurent's eyes met mine for a second, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face, but maybe it was the beard. Maybe it was some sort of beard mirage.

"Yes," he said. "Actually, I made a lot of new, good friends this summer."

"These are crabbing friends?" I asked.

"Kind of, but not really," he said. "They are more concerned with whales."

"Whales, huh?" my father said. "Is there a lot of money in whaling?"

My brother tilted his head to the side and hesitated. "Well, yes, unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately?" my father said without looking up from his plate.

"The truth is," my brother started, "I'm not hunting whales. I'm hunting the people who hunt whales."

"What is that supposed to mean?" my father said, looking up, holding his steak on the end of his fork, mid-air.

"Well, now I'm confused," my mother said, dabbing at her mouth with her white napkin.

"Well, you see," Laurent started. "There is a group of people who are fighting against the illegal whaling that's happening in international waters. They hunt down whaling vessels and expeditions and do their best to obstruct those efforts, in order to… well, in order to save the whales."

"Save the whales?" my father said. "And exactly how much money is there in saving the whales?"

"None," Laurent said. "Absolutely none. It's quite expensive actually. That's why we are looking for investors."

"That sounds illegal," my mother said. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

"There is no governing body on international waters, which is why the whalers can do whatever they want. But it also means that we can do whatever we want, too."

"But isn't it dangerous?" I said.

"Yes," Laurent said. "We just lost a guy, actually. He fell onto the deck of a Japanese boat, and we haven't heard from him since. The Japanese government is being less than cooperative. Which again, is why I am here in Paris, looking for sponsors, allies, anyone who can help us out."

Next to me, my father sat silently, his breathing becoming labored, his knuckles turning red as he clenched his fork.

"So, this is what you have been doing for the last six months?" he said. "This is why you haven't returned your mother's calls?"

"Yes," Laurent said. "As you can imagine, I haven't exactly been close to a landline, let alone a wi-fi signal."

"And your savings?" my father said.

"Well," Laurent said. "I have less now than I've ever had."

My father's face, with no beard to hide it, was turning unmistakably red. He set his fork down deliberately and placed his hands flat on the table.

"I thought the point of this whole crabbing business was to earn money," my father said. "You promised to pay us back. Do you remember that? Do you remember the time you wanted to start a bakery and we loaned you the money? Or, do you remember the time you thought you were a writer and you spent the whole year on _our _couch? Eating _our _food? Spending more of _our_ money? I thought you were trying to be responsible for once in your life."

"I am being responsible," Laurent said. "If I don't save these whales, who will?"

"Save the whales?!" my father said, pushing his chair back, standing up from the table. "I don't give a shit who saves the goddamn whales! And I certainly don't want my son putting himself in debt and danger to do it!"

"It's too late," Laurent said, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "I've already done it, and I will continue to do it. I'd hoped you would understand me and offer your support."

"Then you hoped wrong," my father said. He looked across the table at my mother and added, "Let's go!"

My father stormed out of the restaurant. My mother stood up, but didn't leave without saying goodbye. She kissed us both on the cheeks, me first, and then my brother. She held him by his shoulders.

"Why must you always push his buttons?" she said.

"Believe it or not, this is not about him," Laurent said.

When they were out the door, the waitress came by and, without realizing we had lost half of our dinner party, asked to take Laurent's order.

"No, thanks," he said. "I'm suddenly not hungry."

"Me, neither," I said, looking at the confused waitress. "But I could use a drink."

"That sounds like a great idea!" Laurent said, smiling up at the waitress. "I'll have whatever she's having."

I glanced at my watch. I still had about an hour to kill before I had to get home. The waitress

looked down at me expectantly, tapping the edge of her pen against her notepad.

"Red wine?" I said to Laurent.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

"And since there are two of us..." I started to say.

"We might as well get a bottle," he finished.

/

By the time the hour was up, we had managed to drink through two bottles. We sat at the table, him leaning back, legs spread, one elbow resting on the back of his chair. He had removed his hat at some point, and his hair was a disheveled mess. I leaned back too, but my arms were crossed in front of my chest, and I leaned to the side a bit, as if guarding myself from him, as if waiting for him to take a cheap shot, as if he might reach out and punch my arm the way he used to when we were kids.

"Well, congratulations sailor man!" I said, perhaps a little too loudly. "You've set a new record!"

"Oh, yeah?" he said. "And what's that?"

"Tonight was the fastest I've ever seen you run our parents out of a building," I said.

"No," he said. "I'm sure there were faster times. What about the day I closed the bakery?"

"Nope," I said.

"What about the time I showed up drunk to mass on Easter?" he said.

"Maybe that was a close second," I said. "But this was pretty fast. Less than five minutes. It's like your super power or something."

"My super power?" he said.

"Yeah," I said. "You walk in and they walk out. It's a shame, really. They actually looked excited to see you this time."

"And what about you?" he said.

"What about me?" I said, staring at the bottom of empty glass, considering for a moment to stay longer.

_No! _I thought. _You have to get home! Cosima will be waiting for you!_

"Aren't you excited to see me?" he said.

I looked up at his round cheeks and blue eyes, and there was that mischief, undying as ever.

"No," I said. "Because I know you're going to ask to stay at my place tonight, but you can't because I have plans."

"Plans?" he said. "What plans can you possibly have the night before you fly to Kenya?"

"That," I said, raising my hand to get the waitresses attention, "is none of your business."

"Oh," he said. "I like the sound of this. Do you have a date? Like a last minute hook-up sort of thing? Are you seeing someone?"

"Check, please," I said to the waitress.

"I thought you dumped the American," he said leaning toward me.

"It's none of your business, Laurent," I said, trying to keep a straight face, but I felt my cheeks getting hot.

"You're such a bad liar," he said.

"I'm not lying," I said. "I haven't said anything besides it's not your business. How is that a lie?"

"Alright," he said. "Then you're hiding something."

"Maybe I am," I said. "But it's still none of your business."

"Oh, come on, Delphine," he said. "I've got no where else to go. You know mom and dad aren't going to let me set foot in their house."

"What happened to all your good friends you met this summer?" I said. "Where are they now?"

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific," he said, his face suddenly earnest. "Trust me, the faster I can get back to them, the better."

"Look," I said, signing the receipt on the table. "You got two bottles of wine out of me, alright? I can't give you anything else right now. I'm sorry."

He stared up at me, at first very serious, almost hurt, and then the seriousness melted away, until he was laughing in my face.

"That was pretty good," he said. "I almost believed you for a second."

_Me too,_ I thought.

I sighed and stood up.

"I can't believe you're older than me," I said as I walked away.

/

I'm a pushover, I know.

Laurent followed me outside the restaurant, and when I hailed a taxi he stood by my side with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pea coat. When the taxi pulled up, I expected him to simply walk to the other side, but when I opened the door, he remained where he was under the awning of the restaurant. I looked back at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas, Delphine. Good luck in Kenya," he said.

"Wait, what?" I said.

"I don't want to ruin your date," he said. "I'll find somewhere to stay. I think I know someone out in ..."

"Oh, just get in the car," I said.

As soon as I said the words, he scurried over to the other door and eagerly climbed into the back seat of the taxi. He closed his door first, and when I closed mine, I was greeted by a big, rocking hug.

"I promise I won't make a peep," he said. "It will be like I'm not even there at all."

"Relax," I said. "I don't have a date. It's just a phone call."

"With whom?" he said, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.

"With..." I said. "With my friend. A friend I met in San Francisco."

"A gentleman friend?" he said. "Another American?"

"No, yes, I mean, no," I said. "Yes, American. No, not a gentleman. She's a scientist, like me. That's all."

"Oh," he said, relaxing back into his seat. "Well, that's perfect! After your phone call, we can have a slumber party, just like old times!"

"What are you talking about?" I said. "We never had slumber parties. You had already moved out of the house before I was in sixth grade."

"In that case," he said. "We have to make up for lost time. I have so much to tell you about."

I looked at him sideways for a moment. "Who are you?" I asked. "And what have you done with my brother?"

"Oh, come on, Delphine," he said, the seriousness returning momentarily to his eyes. "What's so strange about wanting to spend time with my sister?"

"Nothing, I suppose," I said, but I couldn't escape the feeling that he was going to start laughing in my face again. "But as soon as we get home, you have to disappear for a while. I have a phone call and it's very important to me, so I can't pay attention to you for at least an hour, maybe more. Do you think you can live with that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I've grown accustomed to keeping myself busy."

I paid the taxi driver and we both got out. I hurried up the fronts steps of my building, but Laurent lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, his head tilted back, his mouth wide open.

"Wow," he said. "Nice place. Is dad paying for this?"

I turned the key in the lock to the front door and slipped into the entryway. I motioned for him to hurry up.

"Yes, come on," I said.

He slipped into the tiny space behind me as I unlocked the second door.

"Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier," Laurent read from the tag on my mailbox. "Very fancy."

"It's not so fancy, really," I said.

But when I turned to read my name as well, I saw something in the little window in the mailbox.

"Wait a minute," I said, removing the door key and then inserting the mailbox key instead.

I pulled out a few flyers, but then in between them, I found a red envelope. I recognized Cosima's handwriting right away. Forgetting that Laurent was standing right over my shoulder, I tore open the envelope, grinning like an idiot the whole time. It was a postcard, a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge in the art deco style. On the top corner it read _Paris of the West_. I turned it over and immediately saw the words, _Love, Cosima_ at the bottom. My heart jumped, and I suddenly imagined Laurent's eyes on me. I flipped the card over, holding it to my chest, turning to face Laurent so that he couldn't see it.

But when I turned, he was picking up a delivery menu near his feet.

_Oh, thank god_, I thought. _He didn't see._

"This looks pretty tasty," he said, looking up. "Who's the card from?"

"No one," I said. "Just a colleague."

"Oh, can we go upstairs now?" he said. "It's kind of claustrophobic in here."

"Yeah, sure," I said, opening the second entry door for him and gesturing for him to go first. "It's number 303."

"No lift?" he said.

"No, I told you it wasn't fancy," I said, walking up the stairs intentionally slow behind him.

I peeked at the postcard, still holding it close to my chest. Cosima's writing - petite and elegant, just like her - was scrawled over every available centimeter of white space.

_Merry Christmas, Delphine!_

_Did you know that when they were trying to attract settlers to San Francisco a hundred years ago, they marketed the city as the Paris of the West? Well, it doesn't feel like Paris to me. Paris seems very far away, almost imaginary, except for your bedroom, which I can see on your video camera every time we talk. I wish I could visit that Paris, the one that has your bed, and your smell, and your body in it. When is someone going to invent a socialized teleportation system? Anyway, I know you are doing the right thing by going to Kenya. I can't wait to see you one more time before you go._

_Love, Cosima_

I was only on the landing of the second floor when I finished reading her words. The wine was taking its toll, filling my eyes with tears. I held the card to my chest and took a deep breath.

_I've made a horrible mistake_, I thought.

"Delphine?" I heard Laurent call from upstairs. "Are you coming?

I stopped for a moment, remembered my surroundings. I slipped the postcard into my pocket and wiped the fresh tears from my eyes.

"Yes, I'm coming," I said after a breath, not realizing that he had switched to English when he had said it.

I turned the corner, taking the first step up the last flight of stairs, holding the railing as I went.

"Good," Laurent said in English from the top of the stairs. His body was nearly a silhouette against the light in the ceiling. "Because we have a visitor."

"What?" I said, looking up, feeling a surreal sensation to hear him speak English, as I was sure I hadn't heard him speak it since we were teenagers.

"Laurent, did you give out my address?" I said.

"Not at all," he said.

I looked up at him, watching in disbelief as another silhouette joined him on the landing.

It was unmistakable; the short stature, the petite frame, the red wool coat, the dreads.

I froze at the bottom of the stairs, unable to take another step.

_It can't be,_ I thought. _It's not possible._

But then the silhouette waved her hand. The sound of her bracelets jingled through the hall and down the stairs. She leaned onto her right hip and said, "Merry Christmas, Delphine!"

I didn't respond in words, really. Instead I let out a roaring shriek of joy. I ran up the stairs, grabbing her hand, pulling her into my arms and hugging her so hard, that I lifted her feet up off the ground.

"Merry Christmas, Cosima!" I said, with my face in her neck. "Merry Christmas!"


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment - a moment filled with Cosima's bright but tired smile - I forgot my surroundings.

For a moment, I was filled with the memory of a promise that I had made in San Francisco; a promise that she had carried all the way across the Atlantic, so that I could be relieved of the burden. For that moment, I felt my entire body rise up, as if I had been carrying a weight around for days, and now it had been lifted.

I reached my hand out, cupping Cosima's cheek.

"You're so cold," I said. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not long," Cosima said, glancing between Laurent and myself, her eyebrows raised, as if asking for some introduction or explanation.

"Oh," I said, pulling my hand away. "Cosima, this is my brother, Laurent. Laurent, this is Cosima, the scientist friend I told you about."

"Hello," Cosima said, reaching out her hand.

"Wow," Laurent said, shaking Cosima's hand. "That's some phone call. What is it, a hologram? It even feels real, too!"

"No, I'm not a hologram, but that would be really cool," Cosima said. "I'm the real thing."

"The real thing, huh?" Laurent said, his eyes lingering on Cosima's face.

"I didn't know she was coming," I said, stepping up to the door.

"It was kind of a surprise," Cosima said behind me.

"Oh, good," Laurent said. "Now, I don't feel so guilty for dropping in."

As I fumbled with my keys, my mind was racing with possible scenarios for how the rest of the evening would go. Was my flat even presentable? I suddenly couldn't remember. Did I have enough food? Did I have enough blankets? Toothbrushes? How soundproof were my walls? I'd never had a chance to test it out before.

_This is going to be tricky,_ I thought.

"What's going to be tricky?" Laurent said behind me.

"Oh, uh.." I said, realizing I had spoken out loud. "This door. It's always a little tricky to get it open. "

"Here, let me," Laurent said, nudging me out of the way.

Normally, that kind of thing would have annoyed me, but I was still a bit shell-shocked, so I took a step backwards; took a step toward Cosima.

We looked at each other sideways and smiled.

"I was supposed to arrive yesterday, but you know me, kinda always late," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I know you."

Then I took her face in my hands, pulling her toward me, toward my mouth, not caring if I landed the kiss perfectly, only wanting to satisfy my desire, even for a moment. The kiss landed on her bottom lip, but the momentum of it was enough to bring our bodies together - our hips and our ribs together - just before I bounced away again.

"There we go," Laurent said, pushing the door open with a grand gesture, obviously proud of himself.

"Thanks," I said, looking at the ground, trying hard not to touch my own mouth. "Can you get Cosima's bags?"

The next hour or so is a blur. I can't really remember much of what I said or did, save for one moment; the moment I asked to take Cosima's coat.

"Sure," she said, turning her back toward me.

Her hair was tied up, revealing her neck. She shrugged the coat off of her shoulders, and I grabbed the collar in my hands, taking a step closer to her, so close her hair was right in my face. When I dodged my head to the side, I caught sight of her skin just beneath her knit sweater, which dipped a little down her back. I caught sight of the curve of her shoulder where it meets her neck; the delicate vertebrate that poked out just above her collar; the tiny blond hairs that stood up straight when I approached and left a trail of goosebumps down her spine.

I shivered.

The rest of the hour was an awkward bustle of motion, asking questions, catching up, introductions, offerings of food and drink, explanations for time lost between Laurent and myself, explanations for why he was crashing my flat, explanations that involved whales and international waters.

I watched Cosima's face. She was tired but trying her best to pay attention, to connect the dots on all the things she had missed that day, and on all the things she didn't know about me.

She looked overwhelmed. We were basically strangers, after all.

"Laurent," I said, cutting him off mid-story. "I'm sure Cosima is tired after her long trip, right Cosima?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, waving her hand in the air, but I could tell she was just being polite.

"See, she's fine," Laurent said.

"Alright," I said. "Then I'm tired. This day has completely worn me out."

"What?" Laurent said. "It's not even ten o'clock yet."

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the couch," I said, tossing blankets at him, intentionally speaking fast so he wouldn't have time to interrupt. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge, but I don't think there's much. I'll be out early in the morning, stay as long as you like. Cosima's sleeping with me."

I looked deliberately at Cosima. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, perfect, obvs," she said to me and stood up. "Uh, it was nice meeting you…"

I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom before she could finish her salutation.

"Nice meeting you, too," Laurent said, but the door closed behind us and cut him off.

"That was a little bit rude," Cosima said, but I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was more amused than angry.

"I don't care," I said, leaning back against the door, as if bracing myself against Laurent's presence, as if fortifying my room with my will for us to be alone.

"Me, neither," she said, still a few steps away from me.

She glanced around the room, and I tried to imagine how she saw it. The walls were white, boring, not much decoration, but the ceilings were lined with an ancient moulding that added a sort of old world elegance to the room. There wasn't much in the way of furniture; a bed with a plain white comforter, a desk neatly stacked with books, a chair tucked neatly under the desk. My computer and most of my notes were already packed neatly away. My suitcase stood in the corner by the closet.

She looked up at me, crossing her arms in front of her chest. We both heard Laurent turn the television on in the other room.

_Damn_, I thought. _Not very sound proof at all. _

"So," I said. I suddenly didn't know what to say. We stared at each other, for a moment as awkward as strangers.

"So," she said. "You're room is very...tidy."

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, also crossing my arms, but not sure why. "Most of my things are already packed."

"Laurent seems nice," she said, crossing one leg in front of the other, and then touching her own face.

"He's fine," I said, suddenly running my hands through my own hair. "I'm sorry he was talking so much about whales."

She smiled and took a step toward me. "It's fine," she said. "I like whales."

"Oh, right," I said. "Evo-devo."

"Yeah," she said, reaching for my hands. "But you know what I like more than whales?"

"I can guess," I said, barely able to say the words.

Soon, she was leaning her whole body against me, pressing me back against the door. I looked down at her and swallowed hard. I had too many emotions, both positive and negative, both joyous and sorrowful. They were filling me up and stretching me out like a water balloon. I couldn't speak another word.

She touched my face, looking up at me from beneath her thick-framed glasses. Then she touched my chin, my ears, my shoulders. Her eyes moved down, until she was staring at my chest, and then she nuzzled her face against my shoulder and squeezed me very hard around the arms.

"Your smell," she said, her voice muffled, her lips pushing against my collarbone. "I like your smell."

And though that wasn't my first guess; with the baby powder scent of her hair under my nose, I knew exactly what she meant.


	8. Chapter 8

In all of those nights; the ones where I dreamed of Cosima's hands, the ones where I woke up out of breath, the ones that made my chest ache; I always thought that seeing Cosima again would be the answer to all my angst. I thought that if I could just be near her, even for a short while, then I'd be satiated, I'd be able to go on. On all those nights, the only way to help myself fall asleep was to fantasize about my future happiness, about the happiness that would come when I saw her again.

And it's true, I was happy. As she slipped her hands under my shirt, and pulled it up over my head, I was happy. And when she unhooked my bra and leaned close to my ear and whispered, "We have to be quiet," I was very happy. When she pushed me back on the bed, and settled herself on her knees on the floor, slipped her glasses off before returning her eyes to mine; when she kissed the inside of my thigh; when I rocked my hips toward her mouth; yes, I was exploding with happiness.

But even as my joy was escalating, even as I was lulling along on desire, I felt something else creeping in at the edges of my heart; something down and something dark. I closed my eyes, and pulled at Cosima's hands. She climbed up over me onto the bed, panting. When I opened my eyes, her face was right over mine, her expression both tender and aroused. I squeezed her face between my hands, wishing I hadn't seen the same sadness in her eyes that I could feel in my own.

I pushed her over, rolling her onto her back, deciding that I should try to ignore those darker feelings, that I should try to redirect my emotions. But even then, as I held her hands against the bed, and leaned over her, I felt a great sadness welling up in me.

"You're so beautiful," I said, barely able to speak.

Her expression changed, becoming even softer, even more tender. She grabbed my head by my ears and began kissing all over my face.

"Shhh!" she whispered. "Shhh!"

She pulled me down and embraced me, slipping her thigh between mine and pushing up hard against my crotch.

"Just fuck me," she said into my ear.

Those words - dirty words, as I had learned from school - did more to shake me loose from my sadness than any other sort of soft consolation she could have uttered.

She scraped at my back with her nails, which both shocked me and kind of pissed me off, but in a good way. I yelped and she immediately covered my mouth with her hand. I looked down at her in disbelief.

But she was all smiles, laughing at my indignation.

"Come on, Delphine," she whispered. "Fuck me...quietly."

"Fine," I whispered back, slipping my hand down, tickling her stomach. "I'll fuck you."

She squirmed beneath my hands. "But you have to be quiet," I said.

"Fine," she said, pinching my back.

I almost yelped again. "That's not fair!" I said. "Pinching is not fair."

"Tickling's not fair," she said.

"Fine," I said. "No more tickling."

"Fine," she said, looking up at me, daring me to try it again.

But I didn't. I pushed my hand further down, pushing down her underwear, not lingering, not taking my time, but going directly to the place she liked. I watched her face change from silly to serious in an instant. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and I could tell she was biting back a moan.

When I felt her warmth, when I felt her arousal, when I went inside her, I was very happy again. I decided to focus on that part, ignore the sad part. As we moved together - sometimes kissing, sometimes biting, sometimes eyes closed and backs arched, sometimes eyes wide open, staring at each other, the space between our pupils filled with a confusing mix of emotions - we were both in agreement about one thing; we were determined to fuck the sadness away.


	9. Chapter 9

Cosima fell asleep right away, but not before mumbling something almost unintelligible into the pillow.

"I brought a present for you," she said, laying on her stomach, her face pointed away from me.

"What?" I said, touching her bare shoulder.

"I brought a present for you," she repeated. Then she weakly gestured with her arm. "It's in my bag."

I looked around the room, realizing that her bags were not there. Her bags were still out in the living room with Laurent. I sat up and pulled on my robe. I stood at the door and listened, and sure enough, I could still hear the TV.

"Do you want a glass of water or anything?" I asked with my hand on the door knob.

There was no answer.

"Cosima?" I whispered.

She was completely out.

I smiled to myself and left the room as quietly as I could. When I opened the door, the lights in the living room and kitchen had been turned off. I couldn't see Laurent's head over the back of the sofa, so I assumed that he must be asleep. I tiptoed to Cosima's bags first, examined them, tried to guess which one she was talking about. I started to unzip the smallest, then thought better of it. Moving them would make too much noise, and whatever present she had brought for me, it could wait until morning.

_Or could it?_ I thought. _Morning is only a few hours away, and so, too is my departure. Maybe I should wake her up! Maybe we shouldn't waste these precious moments!_

In the bluish glow of the TV lights, I reached my hand out, touching the rough fabric of Cosima's largest suitcase. It was just a suitcase, but somehow it had been imbued with value; because it was hers, because she had carried it all the way from San Francisco from her apartment with the red curtains and the high bed; the apartment that reminded me of Christmas and the place where I had first let myself imagine a future with her.

And now, here she was, in my bed, in my apartment, during Christmas, and none of this was what I had imagined. I had no chance to anticipate her arrival, her kisses, her sex; and now that I had already consumed them, I stood with my finger on her suitcase, and allowed the anticipation of the those things to catch up with my reality. I felt butterflies.

_She is here._ I thought. _And she loves me. _

"Bonsoir," Laurent said, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes.

"Merde!" I said. "You scared me."

I stepped away from the suitcases and walked toward the refrigerator. Much to my discomfort, Laurent stood up from the couch and joined me in the kitchen. He sat at the table and watched me as I poured a glass of water, drank it down, and poured another.

"Would you like some?" I offered.

"No thanks," he said, staring at me with a smirk.

"What?" I said.

"What, what?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

_He knows,_ I thought. _I thought we were being quiet._

"Why are you staring at me?" I said.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'm just wondering what the plan is tomorrow."

"Plan?" I said. "What plan? It's the same as before. I'm leaving at seven o'clock for the airport."

"Oh, okay," he said, still smirking.

"What?" I said, nearly slamming the water bottle on the table.

"It's just, I thought you'd changed your mind," he said.

"Why would I have changed my mind?" I said.

"I don't know," he said, fiddling with the corkscrew that was left on the table. "Because Cosima is here...I thought you'd stay. I mean, she came all the way here for you. It would be a shame to leave right away."

"I know," I said, taking another drink. "But what can I do?"

"You could call out," he said.

"Call out?" I said. "How exactly do I call out of a trip to Kenya?"

"Just like that, with a telephone," he said. "Say you're sick. The 24-hour flu, or food poisoning. Say you aren't fit to be on an international flight. Say you will catch up as soon as you feel healthy."

"24-hour flu?" I said, feeling a bit incredulous.

"Yes," Laurent said. "Stranger things have happened. Besides, if you really are sick, you don't want to put your fellow passengers at risk. It's the responsible thing to do."

"You're kidding," I said.

But Laurent just looked up at me, not saying another word.

"The responsible thing?" I said with a forced laugh. "This, coming from you, the least responsible person I've ever met?"

Still, he said nothing.

"God!" I said. "That's so easy for you to say, because you have never worked hard for anything in your life! I'm not like you, Laurent. I don't just blow people off like that...God! The 24-hour flu! Seriously?!"

Then I was silent, too. It was no fun fighting with someone who wasn't fighting back. I sat down at the table, and we stared at each other. I couldn't really read his face. He was hiding behind his hands, which he had crossed in front of his mouth - not to mention that beard, which looked especially dark in the glow of the TV.

"Look," he finally said. "You can insult me if you want, but I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah, help me lose one of the best opportunities of my career," I said.

"Just listen," he said. "You're not giving up the whole trip. How long are you supposed to be there? In Kenya?"

"Six weeks," I said, immediately understanding his reasoning.

"What's two, maybe three days, out of six weeks?" he said.

"No, I can't," I said after a breath. "It's not right."

"Look," he said. "I didn't want to mention it, but let's just say I heard how much you care for Cosima. Actually, the whole floor probably heard how much you care for her."

_He definitely knows!_ I thought, immediately wanting to leave the room.

"Oh my God!" I said, closing my eyes. "I don't want to hear this."

"If you're embarrassed, you don't have to be," he said. "I'm happy for you. She seems like a really nice girl."

"We're not having this conversation right now," I said.

"Why not?" he said.

"Because..." I said, crossing my arms. "Because we haven't talked about anything important in years, and it's one o'clock in the morning, and I'm in my robe...and we're not suddenly BFFs. That's why! Because...what I feel about Cosima is none of your business."

"Fine, then all I will say is...all I will say is..." he started twice and then he stalled.

"Is what?" I said, looking in his face, though I was extremely uncomfortable with this new level of candidness in our relationship.

"There are very few things that are important in life - the people you love and the time you have, those things are important. Everything else is...well, less important." He slouched his shoulders at the end, looking away, looking down at the corkscrew in his hands.

I was about to call him a hippie and thank him for his less than eloquent advice, but we both jumped at the sound of the floorboards as they creaked in the dark.

My bedroom door opened.

"Delphine?" Cosima said, only her face peeking out from behind the door.

"Yes," I said. "I'm coming."

"Okay," she said. "Got any H2O out there?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll be there in a minute. Go back to bed."

I stood up as the bedroom door closed. I poured the water until the glass was full.

Laurent grabbed my hand as I passed, looking up at me with his blue eyes which were uncharacteristically void of mischief.

"You're making a mistake, Delphine," he said. "Trust me; it's not worth it."

"Go to bed, Laurent," I said, dismissing him and the entire conversation.

/

When I got back to my room, Cosima was laying on her side, the blankets pulled up around her shoulders. I sat on the bed beside her and handed her the cup. She took it, drinking in large gulps, then handed it back to me.

"Sorry," I said. "Did we wake you?"

"No," Cosima said, plopping back down into the bed and pulling the blankets up. "I just wondered where you were, that's all."

I smiled and touched her face, her cheek still rosy and warm from sleep. I leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"Did you find my present?" she said.

"No," I said. "I didn't want to wake Laurent, but now he's awake anyway."

"Then you should go get it," she said.

"Which bag is it in?" I asked.

"The little one," she said. "Just bring it in here."

When I brought the bag, I set it on the bed, and she sat up, squinting and looking around the room.

"Where are my glasses?" she said. "Oh, shit! Where are my glasses?"

"Right here," I said, laughing at her panic. "Don't worry, I put them right here."

I handed them to her and watched her nose scrunch up as she slipped them on. It was a face she pulled often, every time she put on her glasses. It was one of my favorite faces.

Once her glasses were firmly in place, she went about opening her bag and digging around, a smile on her face the whole time.

"So," she said as she began pulling things out and setting them haphazardly on the bed, "Initially, I wanted to bring you a piece of San Francisco that was meaningful. Actually, as lame as it is, I wanted to bring you a snowball..."

_Awwwwww_, the sound actually escaped my mouth.

Cosima blushed.

"The only problem is," she continued, taking a lunchbox of sorts out of her bag, holding it to her chest, looking shy and vulnerable. "The only problem is, it never snows in San Francisco. Well, not never-never, but so infrequently that it might as well be never. In fact, the last time was in 2006, so, as you can imagine, all of that snow dried up a long time ago."

"Okay," I said, my eyes lingering on the lunchbox thing in her arms.

"So," she continued, "I brought you a substitute."

"A substitute?" I said. "For a snowball?"

"Yes," she said, handing the lunchbox over to me. It was heavier than I expected.

"What is it?" I said.

"Open it," she said.

I unzipped the top and peered inside. I saw a dark blue ice pack.

"An ice pack?" I said. "How romantic?"

"No, look under it," she said. "I hope they're not completely melted yet."

I took the ice pack out, and beneath it were what looked like ice cream popsicles, both labeled Eskimo Pie.

"Ice cream?" I said.

"Not just any ice cream," she said. "Eskimo Pies! I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they are the next best thing to snowballs."

"Right," I said, taking them out of the lunchbox, handing one to Cosima.

"Are they melted?" she asked.

"No, not completely," I said.

"Good!" she said. "I was worried, because I got held up in JFK, which is why I was late, so I wasn't sure if the ice packs would keep for this long. I couldn't bring myself to open the lunch box and check on them, because I was afraid I'd let the refrigerated air out."

She was babbling and fiddling with the ice cream wrapper. At that moment, I could care less about the ice cream in my hand, because I only wanted to devour her.

"It'd be a pretty crappy gift," she said, "to bring melted ice cream; especially if said ice cream was supposed to represent my feelings for you."

"Cosima," I said.

She stopped talking and looked up at me, with the tip of the Eskimo Pie on her lips.

"Yeah?" she said.

"I love it," I said. "Thank you."

"Good!" she said. "Then let's eat! They won't last much longer!"

And it was true, the Eskimo Pies were melting fast, threatening to drip all over my bed. I ate as fast as I could, watching Cosima between bites.

_I can't believe she is really here,_ I thought.

The sounds of her mouth - the sloppy smacking sounds which might have grossed me out, had they been generated by any other - somehow shook me up, forced me to pay attention to that moment, to snatch at it with every neuron of my hippocampus.

My heart was screaming, _Hey this is important! Remember this!_

And I did.

So much so, that my senses started to converge. The tastes of the chocolate candy shell and the vanilla ice cream center were mixing with the sight of her in my memory, so that even now, sometimes in a convenience store, when passing by the freezer section, I am struck with the image of Cosima's shoulder, peeking out from beneath my white blanket. Even now, both the very mundane smell of vanilla and the very specific chemical smell of lunch box ice packs hold a very dear place in my heart. They both stir up visions of her; her handing me a chewed up popsicle stick; her watching me as I set it aside; her watching me as I slipped off my robe and shut off the light; watching me in darkness, as I crawled into bed over her.

"That was a wonderful present," I said. "The best Christmas present ever."

"Shut up," she said, sliding her hands around my back.

"No, seriously," I said. "Hyperboles aside, I'm really, really happy you are here. The most happy."

"The most happy ever?" she said. "Because that's a hyperbole."

"You know what I mean," I said, holding her face between my hands. "I can hardly believe you're here. I never knew you were so sneaky."

"I know," she said. "It was torture not telling you. I'm actually really bad at keeping secrets."

"You could have fooled me," I said.

"Although, in retrospect," she said. "I probably should have included you so that we could have planned it a little better."

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "It's not like you could have predicted you would be stuck at JFK. And the surprise _was _pretty amazing."

"I know, but..." she said, looking away for a moment, "...now, you're leaving so soon. It feels like..."

"Déjà vu?" I said.

I traced my thumbs along her jaw, still smelling the chocolate on her breath.

"Yeah," she said, still looking away.

"Maybe," I said. "And, maybe not."

Her eyes snapped back to mine and her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"When is your return flight?" I said.

"Back to San Francisco?" she said.

"Yes," I said. "You're not planning to leave tomorrow, too, are you?"

"No," she said. "I'm flying out on Christmas Day. It was the cheapest day."

"I see," I said. "Then I think I might have to fly out on Christmas, too."

"What?" she said. "You're joking."

"No," I said. "I'm very serious, and I think I have a very serious case of the flu coming on."

Not missing a beat, Cosima touched my forehead with the back of her hand.

"I'm no doctor," she said, "But I've seen this in alligators. And you're right. It's seems pretty serious."

"So," I said. "In your professional opinion, speaking as an employee of the California Academy of Sciences, what would you advise me to do?"

"As a scientist, and an expert on the health of albino alligators, I would say you should definitely not get on that flight," she said. "It wouldn't be fair to the other passengers."

"As an expert in immunology and communicable diseases, I think I'm going to have to agree with you," I said. "For the sake of the other passengers."

Her smile was so big, the tops of her cheeks pushed up on the bottom rims of her glasses. A tear formed but did not drip from her right eye. I kissed her cheeks as she laughed, and she wrapped her arms around me again.

"For the other passengers," she said again. "You're very considerate."

"It's only fair," I said, sliding down her body and kissing all the places that I knew would make her laugh, this time, not caring to be quiet.


	10. Chapter 10

With each kiss and each giggle that followed, my perceptions waffled between the familiar and the surreal. Yes, I knew the sound of her laughter. Yes, I knew the face of the woman who was laughing. I knew her body well enough to draw the giggles out, and yet…

When she turned me over, holding my hands against my own chest; when she looked down at me, her hair falling over her face; when she sat up with her legs on either side of my waist, panting like a happy animal; I saw that old, familiar, unknowable thing.

"I can't believe you're here," I said. "I see you, and I feel you, but somehow I still can't believe it."

"I'm here," she said quietly, raising my hands to her mouth.

"I know, but, you know what I mean," I said.

"Can you feel this?" she said, kissing the backs of my hands. Her lips were chapped and warm.

"Oui," I said.

"Can you feel this?" she said, kissing my wrists - once on each arm - sending shivers down my spine.

"Oui," I said, my hips moving on their own.

"And this?" she said, placing my hands on her breasts.

"Oui," I said, feeling her nipples harden in my palms.

"Well, the empirical evidence would suggest that I am, in fact, physically present," she said, grinding her hips in circles.

"Yes," I said. "But I feel like, once I finally get used to the idea of you being here, then you are just going to leave."

Cosima didn't frown at the thought, nor did she stop the circular motion of her hips over mine. Instead, she leaned over and started kissing my neck and shoulders.

"That might be true..." she said, adjusting her weight until she was laying down next to me with her thigh slug over the top of my leg.

Then she moved her hand down the front of my belly, lingering, her index finger making lazy circles just over my pubic bone.

"But...you're going to have so many more orgasms before that happens," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

_Oh, yes_, I thought. _I know this cocky little jerk. _

/

But even still, even as the morning came and I watched Cosima drift off to sleep in the gray morning light, I stared at her face, as if trying to figure out the secret code to her existence. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open slightly, and her shoulders moved gently up and down with her breath.

I stared at her face, and I stared at it hard. She looked the same as the first time I had met her in that aquarium. And, at the same time, she looked different. She was paler, her face thinner. I wondered if it was just from the traveling, or if the last months had been as hard for her as they had been for me.

_Laurent is right_, I thought. _It would be foolish to leave this morning. How could I? As if I even have a choice?_

A few moments later, my phone vibrated against the desk. It was the alarm I had set for myself. I hurried out of bed and shut it off. It was already five. It was already decision time.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think of what to say to my professor. My stomach turned, just thinking about it. I was never good at that sort of thing; I was never good at lying.

_But Laurent is_, I thought.

I snuck out into the living room.

"Laurent," I said, trying not to startle him. "Laurent, wake up!"

"What?" he said, startled anyway. "Are you leaving now?"

"No, no," I said. "I need your help."

"What?" he said, sitting up immediately. "What is it?"

"I need your help calling out," I said. "I don't think I can do it. I'm no good at lying. I feel sick."

"Just text," he said.

"Text?" I said, having not previously considering it an option.

"Yeah," he said. "What time is it?"

"Five," I said.

"Okay, then just text, and apologize that you are bothering him so early."

"I see," I said. I stared down at my phone keyboard.

Then I looked up at Laurent. "Can you do it?"

"Jesus, Delphine," he said. "When did you become such a wimp?"

"Just do it for me, please!" I said. "I'm begging you. I'm begging you!"

"Alright, fine, but I get to stay here for a few more days," he said. "No questions asked."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever you want."

"And breakfast," he said.

"Deal," I said. "Just do it. You're wasting time."

I handed Laurent my phone and ran away to the kitchen. I brewed coffee as he typed like a madman with his thumbs.

"What are you writing? A dissertation?" I asked from the kitchen.

"Shhh," he said. "Let the master work."

After a moment, he tossed the phone onto the table and plopped his head back down onto the couch cushion.

"It's done," he said.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "I told him you'd contact him with your new flight information as soon as you had it."

"You're the best!" I said.

Those weren't words I had said to my brother very often in the last few years. I almost ran to the couch to hug him, but instead I jumped up in the air and spun around, hugging myself and squealing.

"Stay as long as you like," I said, running back to the bedroom, hoping to tell Cosima the good news.

/

But when I opened the door, I couldn't bring myself to wake her. She was sleeping on her side as the new day's sun peeked into the room and over the bed sheets. I sat next to her and stared at her face again. Her eyelashes were fluttering and I could see her irises moving back and forth beneath her eyelids. She was dreaming. Her expression was calm and sweet, and her mouth was still open, letting out heavy breaths that were now on the verge of snores.

_She must be exhausted, _I thought, reaching my hand out.

But then, I resisted the urge to touch her face.

_She will probably sleep all day_, I thought.

I slid into bed next to her, curling up behind her back - the obvious big spoon.

_Not that, that is a bad thing._

I slid right up behind her, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but not touching, because I didn't want to wake her, not even for a second. Instead, I laid there, staring at her back; at the space between her shoulder blades; the valley that formed between them, and the shadows that fell across her skin as the room grew brighter and brighter.

I counted the beauty marks on her back - the ones I could see. I connected them like dots into different patterns and shapes. I used them as a scale to measure the distance she had overcome to get to me. If that one - the one on her lower left rib - was San Francisco; and this one - the one on the tippy-top of her right shoulder - was Paris; then her spine ran right down the middle of the Atlantic, like some sort of misplaced Greenwich Meridian. I wanted to touch her so bad, but I hugged my arms around myself instead.

_The world is unbearably big_, I thought. _And yet, the world is incredibly small...so small that it can be encompassed in the beauty marks on Cosima's back. _

And that was my last coherent thought before I, too, drifted off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

What can I say? So, we slept all day?

We slept all that first day, drifting into a soft, deep sleep as the sun came up, and rising with languid stretches as the sun went down.

No matter the hours that may have been lost, I refuse to call it a waste of a day. I refuse to categorize any of our actions during those few days as wasteful. The exact opposite was true.

Every moment was meaningful, loaded with importance, and set aside from all other moments in both clarity and longevity. It was as if the physics of the natural world were conspiring with us, bending time in strange ways, so that minutes would stretch on like hours - like the minute within which I woke up and caught her staring at me, laying on her side, her elbow under her ear, her eyes smudged with eyeliner and her face somehow vulnerable without her glasses; and hours sped by like minutes - like the two hours within which we showered and dressed ourselves, managing to step out the front door of my building just as the last hints of pink faded from the sky and the first stars could be seen.

We didn't even notice that Laurent was no where to be found. We didn't notice and we didn't care. All that mattered were our growling stomachs.

"What a beautiful night!" Cosima said, grabbing my hand right away. "I feel like I'm walking in a Van Gogh painting!"

"Don't be so cheesy," I said, laughing at her eagerness.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "I'm in Paris! And not only that, I'm walking down the street arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman! I'm allowed to be as cheesy as I want to be!"

For a moment, I saw my surroundings through her eyes. I saw the cobble stone street. I saw the cafe on the corner with its round tables and warm interior lights, all of which cast long shadows out into the street. I looked up and I saw the sky, which had not turned black yet, but was still a soft shade of dark blue, inky and romantic. I saw my street through her eyes and I found, much to my surprise, that her excitement was contagious.

"What are we going to eat?" she said, tugging at my elbow.

"I was thinking crêpes," I said. "There is a pretty good place right around the corner."

"Oh, crê~~~pes!" she said, stretching the vowel out for emphasis. "That sounds very French."

"Yes, I suppose," I said, laughing. "Anyway, it's close and I'm starving."

"Me, too!" she said. "Me, too!"

When we arrived at the crêperie, there was already a small queue forming in front. I thought Cosima would be discouraged, so I assured her that the line would move quickly.

"Are you kidding?" she said. "That means it must be good! Obvs!"

She took out her phone.

"Mark is going to be so jealous!" she said, snapping a photo of the front of the building.

I couldn't help but laugh at her.

"Don't laugh," she said. "I'm excited."

"I know," I said. "And everything you say sounds like it has three exclamation marks attached to it."

"So what?!" she said. "I'm in Paris!"

It was a phrase she would use often in the next few days; at the obvious times, and also at the most mundane times, such as that one, standing in line for crêpes on a completely unremarkable street. Maybe, a few years ago, I would have been embarrassed or overwhelmed, as I had sometimes felt when Josh slipped into his francophilic art appreciation speeches.

But this was somehow different. When Cosima spoke of Van Gogh, she wasn't talking from an art history angle, nor was she being pretentious or self-conscious. She was speaking from her imagination and her sense of wonder.

I knew it, because I could see myself in her excited eyes. I could see myself in the way she touched the edge of the menu that was on display in front of the door, reading down the list of crêpes, as if she could understand the French. I could see myself in the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then the way she looked up at me and smiled, as if the menu, itself, had charmed her.

"Can you understand it?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "What's good?"

I explained the menu to her and she leaned close to me, placing her hand on my forearm and nodding her head at every item. As I proceeded down the menu, I noticed her smile growing larger and her cheeks growing redder. At some point, she had turned away from the menu and was staring directly at my mouth.

"What?" I said, touching my own face.

"Nothing," she said. "I just like it when you speak French."

"Oh my god!" I whispered, hunching my shoulders and leaning close to her. "Am I turning you on?"

She laughed and shrugged. "Maybe," she said.

"Oh my god," I said again. "You have to concentrate. We should know our order before we sit down. The wait-staff here is really grumpy."

"Okay," she said. "Okay. I'm concentrating."

I started reading again, and as I did, I felt her hand massaging my forearm.

"Cosima," I said. "Please concentrate."

"I don't care," she said. "Everything sounds good. I trust your taste."

"Well, I usually get the basic _jambon-fromage_," I said, over-enunciating on purpose.

"Uh-huh," she said, licking her lips.

"But maybe that is too simple. I feel like you should try something more like the Bertine, which has _œuf...jambon...fromage...et oignon_."

She was hanging on my every word.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head eagerly. "Let's get that one."

"You have no idea what I just said, do you?" I said, laughing.

"Not at all," she said. "But it sounds delicious."

A few moments later, the waitress showed us to our tiny table in the back of the tiny dining area. And with the speed of a buzzing bee, she took our order, set out our bottle of cider and cups, and sped off to address the next table.

Cosima looked around the place, eyes wide, shoulders high, fingers running over the warm wood grain of the table. She was taking in all the details of the room, the antlers on the wall, the old posters in the bohemian style, the stack of pre-cooked crêpe pastries that sat on top of the bar. Then she took out her phone and began taking pictures again.

"I never would have pegged you for such an enthusiastic tourist," I said, pouring the cider for us.

"Let's just say, I don't travel often," she said. "This is my one chance to make my life appear more exciting than it really is, you know, on social media."

"Oui," I said. "But, seriously, I can't believe you came here. I mean, how could you…"

I stalled because I didn't want to be rude.

"How could I afford it?" she said. "Well, let's just say I've been eating a lot of Cup-O-Noodles this semester."

"Oh, no," I said, remembering how thin her face had looked that morning. "Well, now you're here, I'm going to feed you well!"

"And what about you?" Cosima said. "Did you find another ticket for Christmas?"

"Not yet," I said. "I think I've been in denial about the whole thing. I mean, you kind of side-swiped me a little."

"Yeah," she said. "But I didn't expect you to stay for me."

"Cosima," I said, reaching for her hand. "Of course I stayed."

"But you should really find another ticket," she said, slipping her hand out from beneath mine. "If you can't find another one, then I will absolutely die of guilt. Like, I'm not even kidding."

She was scrolling through her phone, searching budget travel sites on my behalf.

"It's fine," I said. "I'll find something."

But, if her eagerness was contagious, her anxiety was equally so. I took out my phone as well, realizing that I hadn't looked at it once since that morning when Laurent had sent the text message for me. Reluctantly, I switched on the screen.

Right away, I saw the response message from my professor.

_I'm very sorry to hear that, _he said. _Take care of yourself first,_ he said. _But don't be in a rush to make new travel plans. The supply caravan that will carry us to the work site only travels into the city every few weeks,_ he said. _Therefore, we will have to make special arrangements for your pick-up from the airport, if one can be arranged at all. Please await confirmation before purchasing a replacement plane ticket. _

For a moment, the room became dark, or maybe it was just my eyes. And the sounds of the other patrons became muffled, or maybe it was just my ears. For a moment, it was hard to breathe.

_...if one can be arranged at all…_ I thought. _...if at all…_

The words echoed in my mind.

"Delphine?" Cosima said, suddenly. "What's wrong?"

"What?" I said, looking up. "Oh, it's nothing."

"You're as pale as a ghost," she said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…" I said, unconsciously raising my hand to call the waitress.

She arrived almost immediately, and I ordered a bottle of wine.

"Delphine?" Cosima said again.

"It's just," I said again. "My trip to Kenya may be delayed even longer than I thought."

"Oh, no," Cosima said softly.

The wine appeared right away, and the waitress opened it with expert speed and precision. She poured a little in my glass and asked me to taste it. I swirled the wine around the glass and brought it to my nose, but I didn't smell a thing. I smiled and nodded my head, and the waitress poured our wine as Cosima and I sat in awkward silence.

"Well," Cosima said when the waitress was gone. "Delayed for how long?"

"We're not sure yet," I said. "Maybe indefinitely."

"Indefinitely?" she said. "So you're not going at all?"

She looked crushed, and I hated seeing her that way, so I tried to play it off.

"It's fine," I said. "I'm sure it will all work out. Besides, let's focus on the positive. We get to spend Christmas Eve together."

I raised my glass of wine. She just stared at me, her hand around the base of her wine glass, her thumb running up and down the stem nervously.

"This is my fault," she said finally, leaning back in her chair. "God, I'm so selfish."

"Cosima, please don't say that," I said, setting my glass down, and leaning across the table toward her. "I'm so happy you're here."

"I shouldn't have come," she said. "I should have known better."

"Please, please stop saying such things," I said, feeling tears welling up. "I have no regrets."

"Really?" Cosima said.

"Yes, of course," I said. "Even if I knew the consequences before hand, I would have made the same choice."

"That's just what I mean," Cosima said. "I'm selfish for putting you in this position. I shouldn't have made you choose. You shouldn't have had to choose."

"Cosima, listen to me," I said, reaching for her hand. "Last night, when I saw you in the hallway in front of my apartment, that was the happiest moment of my life. I'm not exaggerating. I'm completely serious, and I wouldn't trade that moment for a million internships or resume boosters."

Cosima took a deep breath, then took the hand that I had reached toward her, but she didn't say anything.

"Anyway," I said. "What's done is done. Now all we can do is make the best of the situation."

I lifted my wineglass, putting on the happiest face I could muster. I knew she could see right through me, could tell that I was still pretty shaken up, but she played along anyway. She lifted her glass, too.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas," I said.

We clinked our glasses together and took a sip of wine. Then, she stared at the wine in her glass before setting it down. Her face was pensive, and her shoulders slouched as she swirled the wine around. Then she looked up at me and smiled softly.

"This is pretty good," she said about the wine, but I heard the _I'm sorry_ in her voice.

"It is, isn't it?" I said. "I think it deserves one more toast."

She laughed half-heartedly. "Okay."

We raised our glasses again, just as the waitress brought out what must have been the largest crêpe Cosima had ever seen. She couldn't hide her enthusiasm then.

"To no regrets!" I said.

"No regrets!" Cosima said, and I think, at that moment, we both actually meant it.


	12. Chapter 12

After the first glass of wine, the mood at our table lightened up a bit, and by the bottom of the bottle we were both slouching in our chairs. My stomach bulged beneath my sweater, and my cheeks ached with smiles, because Cosima was telling the story of her night in the JFK airport, her hands flying wildly over the table.

"So I was lying down with my head on my bag, and this guy sits right next me, and he puts his feet right next to my head," she said, attacking her own face with her hand.

"Okay," I said.

"I was like, 'Oh, great!' but I just rolled over and away from his feet. But then, he kicks off his shoes and gets real comfortable. 'Fine,' I thought. 'I mean, we are all in this together, right? We are all stuck in this airport. He has the right to be comfortable. We all do. Fine.'"

"Uh-huh," I said, knowing this wasn't the end of the story.

"But at some point, I must turn over, because his feet are right in my face, and his socks are so dirty, Delphine!" she said, smacking the table and cringing.

"Oh no!" I said.

"I kid you not, they were black, and there was a hole in the big toe, and all I could see was this guy's hairy big toe, right in my face," she continued.

"Disgusting," I said.

"And that's not the worst of it!" she exclaimed, waving her hand across the entire expanse of the table, knocking the nearly empty wine bottle onto the floor.

It shattered and a woman behind me screamed.

Cosima hunched over on herself, her shoulders pulled in tight and her hand clamped over her mouth. At first, she looked horrified, and then a giggle snuck its way up from her belly to her lips, escaping her mouth in an adorable puff-puff-puff.

I laughed with her, and at her.

The waitress, though, when she approached the table, did not laugh.

"Uh, I'm so sorry," I said. "We were just leaving."

"It's no problem," the waitress said, but her tone said we had just ruined her entire night.

I payed the check as fast as I could, leaving the money on the table and not waiting for change. Then we scurried out of the restaurant, we could barely contain our laughter before bursting out into the street.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Cosima said. "She hates me."

"So what?" I said, reaching for my pack of cigarettes. "I told you they were grumpy."

"Yeah, but, now I'm that spazzy American girl," Cosima said.

I opened the pack of cigarettes, and I was surprised to find only one left. I stopped in the middle of the street, cupping my hands around the lighter's weak flame, and Cosima kept walking, seemingly unaware that I had stopped.

I watched her strut down the street, her hands in the pockets of her red coat, which hung loosely from her petite shoulders. She walked so lightly, crossing one foot in front of the other as she went, that her boots barely made a sound against the cobblestones. She tilted her head to the side, her hair tied up in a bun, and the ends of her dreads dangled like ornaments.

And from all of that, even without seeing her face, I could tell she was smiling.

"So what's the worst part?" I said, slipping my lighter back into my pocket.

"What?" she said, turning around.

"What's the worst part about the hairy-toed-man?" I said.

"Oh, well!" she said, launching back into the story. "His feet reeked! Like, I'm guessing he hadn't washed those socks in weeks!"

"Ew!" I said, catching up with her and taking her arm. "So what did you do?"

"What could I do?" she said. "I just got up and moved to a different spot, a sock-free zone."

"And did you manage to sleep?" I said.

"Yeah, but it gets worse," she said.

"Wait, I thought _that_ was the worst part."

"No," she said. "When I finally got on the plane the next morning, guess who I had the pleasure of sitting next to?"

"Non, non, non!" I said.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she said. "Seven hours and forty seven minutes of Mr. Sewage Socks!"

"That's horrible," I said. "I can't believe you survived it."

"You have no idea," she said, stopping to look up at me.

"Well, I, for one, appreciate your sacrifice," I said, recognizing the look in her eyes.

She watched my mouth as I took a drag of my cigarette, then she licked her own lips.

"God, I would kill for a blunt right now," she said.

"And here I thought you wanted to kiss me," I said.

"Well, I want that, too," she said, stepping closer to me and slipping her hands into my coat and around my waist.

"My breath probably smells like onions and cigarettes," I said, pulling away as she leaned up.

She grabbed my waist and held me still.

"I've smelled worse," she said, moving her hands up, clenching the collar of my coat. "And lived to tell about it."

I leaned over to kiss her, but then, someone called my name. It was Laurent.

"Bon soir, Delphine!" he said. "Bon soir, Cosima!"

Cosima and I jumped in unison, and without thinking, I took a step away from her. Her hands, after falling away from my coat, she tucked back into her own pockets.

"Hello, Laurent," she said before I did.

He had spotted us from across the street and had jogged over to meet us.

"Laurent," I said, clinging to the cigarette in my hand. "I barely recognized you!"

And it was true. He wore the same knit cap and pea coat, but his face was clean shaven and his wild mane of hair had been trimmed down close to the ears.

"Yeah, I took a trip to the barber's today," he said. "What do you think?"

"You look fine," I said, still feeling a little shaken up, still reminding myself that, yes, I was in Paris now, not San Francisco, and, yes, there are people here who recognize me.

Cosima looked from me to Laurent and then stretched her smile even wider across her face.

"You look very handsome," she said.

"Thanks so much for saying so," he said. "Where are you guys headed to anyway?"

"I don't know," Cosima said, turning her body toward me. "Where are we headed?"

"I don't know," I said. "I guess we hadn't really decided yet."

"Well," Laurent said, looking at his watch. "It's a bit late to be heading into the city. Why don't I pick up a few things in _l'epicerie_ and we can hang out at the flat? I think I owe you at least a bottle of wine."

"Oh," I said, looking at Cosima. "I'm not sure. It's Cosima's first night in Paris."

"No, no," Cosima said, shrugging her shoulders. "That's fine with me. I'm down for whatever."

"See," Laurent said, "She's down for whatever!"

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Yeah, definitely," she said.

"Great!" Laurent said. "Super! I will just step in here for a minute and pick up some things."

He pointed at the corner store over my shoulder. He stepped around me faster than I could resist. The bell on the door rang as he pushed inside. I looked at Cosima.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's fine," she said. "I don't mind staying in."

Just then Laurent popped his head back out of the store.

"Do you prefer red wine or white?" he shouted from the door.

"Red!" Cosima shouted back. "And cigarettes!"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said and he was gone again.

I looked at Cosima and smiled. "Cigarettes?"

"What?" she said. "They're not for me."

Laurent came out of the shop carrying two heavy bags.

"What on earth did you buy in there?" I said.

"Just some presents," he said. "If I'm going to keep you cooped up in the apartment, then I'd better treat you right."

"This is starting to sound more interesting," Cosima said.

/

On the way home, Laurent began reminiscing about the old days, when our family lived in a flat similar to the one I was in now, on a street only a few blocks away.

"God, it didn't seem small at the time," he said, "but how did all four of us survive in there?"

"We shared a bedroom, that's how," I said, more than a little bitter. "Until you were too old and you kicked me out."

"Oh come on, you didn't mind," he said. "You loved that sofa couch."

"Loved it?" I said. "I had a sore neck for most of fifth grade."

"Well, it didn't last long, did it? I got out of everyone's hair soon after that," he said.

Cosima listened to our conversation, walking close to my side, not reaching for my hand, but intentionally bumping my elbow every few steps.

"How old were you when you moved out?" she asked.

"I was eighteen," he said, then he looked up and smiled. "It was right after I got out of this place!"

He stopped walking right in front of an iron gate. Laurent, his arms loaded with groceries, stepped up to the gate and looked in. I knew exactly where we were, but Cosima looked confused.

"It's our old high school," I said.

"This one? This exact one?" she said, looking pleasantly surprised.

She also took a step toward the gate. She reached for the iron bars and squinted to see into the dark yard.

"Wow," she said. "It's a beautiful building!"

"It's old and decrepit," I said. "It was old and decrepit when we attended here fifteen years ago."

"I had a lot of good times here," Laurent said with a sigh. "Ah, the good old days."

"You were hardly ever here," I said. "You cut class every other day."

"That was the best part," he said. "So many good times."

"You never cut class?" Cosima asked me.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Not even to smoke a cigarette?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I didn't cut class to do that. But I did sneak over to the primary school on breaks. It's just over there, can you see it?"

Cosima leaned as close to the gate as she could without pressing her face against the cold metal. As she leaned the gate shifted, the chain rattled, and the bottom latch scraped loudly against the ground. Cosima jumped. But when she stepped back, a space had opened up between the two sides of the gate - a space just big enough for a person to pass through.

Cosima looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"Do you have my cigarettes?" I asked Laurent.

He handed them over. His eyes were full of mischief and envy.

"Have fun," he said. "I'll go on ahead and prepare you presents."

"Fine!" I said.

When I turned around, Cosima was already on the other side of the gate. I slipped through behind her, giggling.

"Oh, hey!" Laurent said, hurrying back toward us. "I need the key!"

"Of course," I said.

I reached through the gate and slipped the key into his coat pocket.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said with a wink and then he was gone.

I was so excited, I nearly skipped to where Cosima was waiting for me in the dark yard. I grabbed her hand and led her, both giggling and shushing us, as we made our way toward the playground in the primary school yard.

_This is not where I expected to be tonight,_ I thought.

My heart was racing.

I watched Cosima climb the wooden ladder that led to the small covered landing, which in turn led to a wooden bridge on one side, and to a metal slide on the other. She sat down in that little area, and I knew why. It was the same place I had smoked my first cigarette all those years ago. She sat on that landing because its roof and walls offered a little bit of privacy.

"Come on," Cosima said, her voice sounding incredibly loud in the quiet yard.

My heart fluttered and bounced, as if it was only tied to my chest by a string. As I scaled the ladder, she reached out her hand and giggled. I felt so light that I might float away.

_No, this is not what I expected,_ I thought. _This is much, much better. _


End file.
